Lena didn't remember how she got home.
One moment, Julian's eyes. The next, the apartment door shutting behind her. Her jacket hit the
floor. Her heels followed. She didn't turn on the lights.
She didn't want to see herself.Mason wasn't home. Probably still at dinner with clients or working late. Or maybe just avoiding
another night of watching her drift further away.
She didn't blame him.
She sat at her desk with the same wine-stained glass she brought from the rooftop, still half-full.
Her laptop waited. The screen glowing like it knew something.
She hadn't written in three days. Not since the last line ended with his name.
Julian.
Just typing it had made her chest tighten, her hands shake. Like saying it out loud might summon
something she wasn't ready to feel again.
But now? Now he wasn't just on the page.
He was back in the city. In her atmosphere. In her skin.
The cursor blinked at her.
She placed her fingers on the keys. And just… let go.
He was in the room before she heard him.The door hadn't creaked. The floor didn't groan. But she felt it — like the temperature dropped
when he walked in.
She didn't turn around. Not at first. Because she already knew who it was.
"You shouldn't be here."
"But I am."
His voice was lower now. Rougher than she remembered. Like something had been sanded down
and sharpened underneath.
And when he stepped closer, she hated how her body remembered him before her mind could
protest.
He didn't touch her. Not yet.
Just stood close enough for her breath to catch.
Close enough for his to land on her neck.
"Say the word," he said. "I'll walk away."
But she didn't.
Because she never did.
Lena paused. Her chest rose and fell like she'd just lived it. Not written it.
And in a way, she had.
Because that scene hadn't come from fiction. It was a memory.
One she had no right still remembering. But there it was. Playing behind her eyes as she stared at
the screen.The front door clicked.
Lena slammed the laptop shut.
"Hey," Mason called out, tossing his keys in the bowl like always.
"Hey," she answered, like always.
He walked into the room, loosened his tie, and kissed her forehead. Like nothing had shifted.
Like nothing ever did.
But Lena could still feel the heat of a man who wasn't her husband.
And that was the moment she realized something terrifying:
Writing about Julian wasn't helping her forget.
It was making her want him all over again.